


Oh Lord I'm Stuck in Progress Again

by Faustess



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Western, Angel Gabriel (Supernatural), Blacksmithing, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dean Winchester Has Trust Issues, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Dreams, Dreamscapes, God(dess) of Mischief, Kidnapped Tony Stark, Letters, Loki Watches Television, M/M, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Personal Ads, Progress California, Sex Tapes, Sleeping Tony Stark, Supernatural Elements, Surprises, Tags May Change, Television Watching, Tony Stark Has Trust Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, blacksmith!Tony
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2019-11-18 09:45:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18118277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faustess/pseuds/Faustess
Summary: Tony Stark wakes up to find himself indistinctlyunfamiliar surroundings... like some kind of Old West reenactment village....  Tony's sleep is not a natural sleep, though... so who are the Avengers gonna call?  The Winchesters, obviously.Tony Stark Bingo 2019, K1 - Western AU





	1. Looks Like They Took My Friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rudearrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudearrow/gifts), [rinnwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinnwrites/gifts), [Nix3994](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nix3994/gifts), [deathsweetqueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathsweetqueen/gifts), [Eirlyssa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eirlyssa/gifts).



When Tony Stark fell asleep after thirty hours in the workshop, he expected to find himself in one of a handful of typical places: the couch in his shop, the bed in his apartment, sitting on a stool at one of his work tables, or somewhere between the shop and the kitchen where they hid the better coffee (called NITRO FUEL!!!!!! or something equally ridiculous).

Tony woke up in none of those places. If he had to guess (and he did), his first guest would be ‘reenactment village’ because straw was poking him in the side from the mattress and his nose felt a little stuffy from the _feathers_ in his pillow.

He closed his eyes again. His life was full of strange things, not least being people actually _named_ Strange – in case the sentient cape didn’t give it away. Tony decided because his life tended to be odd to begin with, he’d go back to sleep – thus, when he woke up the next time, he’d _really_ be awake and not just _dreaming_ that he woke up. Obviously.

Some time later, an incessant banging on the door woke Tony again. The straw still poked him and the feathers still made his head ache and his nose stuffy. The banging on the door didn’t go away, though. The fist pounding on the door was accompanied by someone with more whistle to his S’s than the kid from the ‘All I Want for Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth’ song.

“Ssssstark? You in there?” whistled what sounded like perhaps the oldest man on earth.

“Yeah – who’s asking?” Tony asked, feeling grouchy both about waking up in an unfamiliar place and because of the goddamned feathers in his pillow. Whoever had the bright idea of sticking him here apparently didn’t know it was the _one_ thing he was allergic to. So that ruled out Rhodey and Pepper as his kidnappers – not much to go on, but it was a start.

The oldster sounded hurt, “Why, it’s Gabby, Tony. C’mon, quit yer foolin’. It’s Friday – everyone’s waitin’ on you.”

Well _that_ wasn’t unusual. “All right, I’ll be right down. Give me ten minutes,” Tony replied, still grouchy, but maybe there’d be breakfast out there too.

Tony pulled on a pair of jeans that looked like they could probably use a wash, but didn’t smell too bad and pulled on a ugh… _plaid_ … shirt. Socks, boots, and he was ready to go. Walking out of his room, he found a steep staircase. “Well, _that’s_ not up to code,” he mumbled to himself.

He shambled down the stairs and found himself in front of a blacksmith shop. A sign hung in front said, ‘Stark Iron Goods’ in bold, but somewhat curly red and gold lettering. Scanning the town around him, Tony saw a dirt street and wooden sidewalks. Horses, cowboy hats, women with long skirts and up-do’s carrying babies and wearing _bonnets_ … and a line of people waiting for him in front of said blacksmith shop. Apparently, Friday was ‘going to town’ day.

As he started talking to people, he found that his blacksmith shop was by far the best in the state (no surprise there, honestly) and that he also fixed clocks, scales, and other semi-mechanical things that needed occasional fine-tuning. Fortunately, the things the people were coming to collect had already finished and the new things being dropped off would be collected sometime in the future.

After the first wave of customers left, leaving behind both cash and in-kind payments, Tony stoked the fire in the forge and started making horseshoes and nails – which were needed in seemingly infinite numbers.

Over the next several days, Tony explored the community – Progress, California – and its surroundings, which appeared to be populated by vast quantities of sagebrush, rocks, and a few rocky outcroppings that weren’t quite mountains. Tumbleweeds rolled into town – _tumbleweeds!_ Exploring too far into the land around the town didn’t seem very fruitful, though – at least nothing came of it. A few of the townspeople were more colorful characters than the rest, but it almost felt like he’d been dropped into some kind of cowboy movie somewhere between Roy Rogers films for aw-shucks wholesomeness and the spaghetti Westerns of the 70s for grittiness (mostly consisting of long silences in which grubby-looking men tried to out-stare one another before violence erupted).

Weeks went by. As far as Tony could tell, Progress was a period piece – historically accurate, but not quite _real_. Frankly though, it was exhausting trying to figure out how he got here, how to escape, and keeping the bad guys from killing the good guys, all while trying to keep up with the repairs and blacksmithing needs of the small town and surrounding countryside. Supposedly, the mayor had sent for a new sheriff from ‘back East,’ but in the time Tony had been here, no one seemed to know anything else about it.

The only consolation was that the bartender had decent Scotch. After a particularly busy Friday, Tony sat down at the bar and Pete, the bartender poured from the bottle of The Glenlivet. Tony spread out the drinks because there was only the single bottle of the good stuff behind the bar and the bad stuff? Truly, _truly_ repugnant.

“Sorry I’ve only got the one bottle for you Stark… an’ this one’s just about tapped out….” Pete the bartender sighed, then mumbled, “Wish the guy who left it for you brought a couple more… me an’ the missus could’ve had a lotta fun with one o’ these.”

Tony looked up, “Guy who left it for me?” This was the first new information he’d heard about this whole weird situation since he quit looking for ways out (too far, not enough water, no airplanes, electric lights, or indoor plumbing either).

“Yeah, taller fella, blondish hair. Didn’t catch his name, though,” Pete replied. “Wasn’t supposed to say anything about it, so let’s just keep it ‘tween you an’ me.”

 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

 

“Uh… hello?” Dean Winchester answered suspiciously. Typically, no one had access to this phone except his brother Sam, Bobby Singer, and a handful of other hunters.

“’Bout time you picked up!” Bobby’s indignant voice snapped.

Dean relaxed a bit and sighed in relief, “Bobby – hey, where you calling from? The number’s just coming through as a bunch of random characters.”

“That’s not important right now. Listen. I’ve got a case for you with a lot of… weird circumstances,” Bobby replied, the edge of his patience somewhat frayed.

Raising a skeptical eyebrow, Dean said, “Isn’t every case weird?” He glanced across the diner table at Sam and shrugged.

“Well this one’s extra weird, okay?” Bobby sounded more than a little exasperated and Dean could hear the _‘Idjit,’_ Bobby left unsaid.

“All right, whatchya got?” Dean asked, leaning back into the diner’s booth and picking at his fries.

“Well… there’s two things that seem too coincidental not to be connected.” Bobby took a deep breath. “You know that celebrity inventor guy? Tony Stark?”

Dean munched a french fry, “Yeah, I guess – lotta sex scandals an’ robots or something, right?”

Bobby sighed, a sound that implied his limited patience was being severely tried. “Or somethin’, yeah. He’s been busy with a government program called the Avengers Initiative. Big superhero thing – saving the world from aliens, killer robots, and stuff.”

Dean’s brain stalled out at ‘superhero.’ “Um… superheroes? Bobby, this is real life… not comic books.”

“Don’t you watch the goddamn news, ya idjit?” Bobby sighed, annoyed, and went on. “Don’t answer that. _Yes,_ Superheroes. The aliens that tried to take over New York?” After a brief pause to see if that rang any bells with Dean and when there wasn’t any sound of recognition, he continued, “I guess that was while we were trying to get rid of the Leviathans, so I guess you’re off the hook…. Anyway, Stark is Iron Man, his dad founded Stark Industries?”

Dean nodded slowly, “Right… yeah, the guy’s dad tried to cover up the sex tape thing right before he died. There’s a whole big conspiracy theory about it on the Internet.”

Sitting across from him, his brother Sam shot him a confused look, mouthing, “Sex tapes?” Then speaking up, “Who are you talking to?”

Dean held the phone away from his mouth for a second, “It’s Bobby, Sam. He’s got a job for us.”

Sam frowned, clearly doubting the life choices that brought him to a conversation involving a job for the two of them that had something do with sex tapes. Squaring his shoulders, Sam nodded and asked the waitress for more coffee.

From the phone, Dean could almost hear Bobby’s slight facial tic going into overdrive. “Sorry… so what’s going on?”

Bobby got down to business, “Stark has been asleep for almost a week.”

“Asleep?” Dean repeated.

“Like a fairy tale,” Bobby confirmed. “A friend of mine over there thought it might be something up your alley since it doesn’t seem to be ‘sorcery.’”

“Sorcery?” Dean repeated (again), “You mean witchcraft?”

“No, I mean _sorcery_ –” Bobby sighed again, “There _is_ a difference, trust me. Anyway,” he hurried on before Dean could interrupt him again, “If anything, Stark tends toward the insomniac side, so his friends are understandably concerned.”

“Yeah… a week’s a long time….” Dean said, running through possible causes for unexplained oversleeping. “And they ruled out everything else?”

“Yep. It’s not sleeping pills, drug overdose, or any kind of medical condition. Seems to be fine physically… he’s just asleep.”

“So, what’s our cover? Guy like that’s gotta have major security… our IDs aren’t gonna get us anywhere other than a date with the real FBI… and I’ve kinda had it with being America’s Most Wanted,” Dean said. The case sounded interesting… but not really feasible logistically.

“I told you – I’ve got a friend there. No covers. They’re ‘requesting your expertise in the matter,’” if Bobby sounded more than a little pleased with himself, so be it.

“Our expertise?” Dean sounded both surprised and pleased. “Ok – where are we going?”

“New York City, boys. I’ll see ya there,” and the call ended.

Dean looked across the table at Sam, “Sammy – we’re goin’ to New York.”

 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

 

The man with the sandy brown hair stretched out next to Loki on a _very_ expensive butter-colored leather sofa. He grinned, “So, do you like it?”

Loki arched an eyebrow, “That you imprisoned Stark in one of your television-based alternate realities?”

The other man lost none of his cocky self-confidence, “I prefer to think of it more like I’m giving one of your favorite mortals a very well-deserved vacation from saving the universe.”

“That I can watch on the television in my apartment,” Loki added matter-of-factly, giving no sign of whether or not he approved. “So your mortals can meet mine.”

“ _Exactly._ I took the liberty of putting Stark in my favorite Western series, _Progress_. I remembered how you enjoyed Sam and Dean’s venture into _Dr Sexy, MD_ and thought you might like this better. Happy Anniversary.”

Loki rolled his eyes, but smiled, the corners of his mouth threatening to turn from vaguely pleased into something more genuine. “I thought you’d forgotten, Gabriel….” Sentiment flickered in Loki’s eyes for an instant before a mischievous grin spread across his face. “I _do_ enjoy the Man of Iron making his way in a historically accurate setting… no electricity even…” Loki laughed and kissed Gabriel on the cheek.

“I thought you might,” Gabriel seemed particularly proud of himself. “Did _you_ forget?” he tucked a strand of dark hair behind Loki’s ear.

Feigning offense, Loki said, “Absolutely _not._ ” Then turning sly and flirtatious, he added, “You just need to wait and see what happens.”


	2. I Was Just Passin' Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby’s voice filled the room again, “… I think I told you there were **two** things that seem too coincidental not to be connected…?” He sighed again, “Well, this is the other.”
> 
> Well.. that and Dean realizes why the name 'Tony Stark' is linked up with 'sex tapes' in his mind.

Arriving somewhere like the Avengers Tower without needing any kind of cover story felt completely alien to Dean as he gazed around the lobby. ‘Just tell them who you are at the reception desk in the lobby,’ Bobby had told them when Sam had called to tell him they were almost there. The valet ( _valet!_ ) parked their car.

A woman with shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair walked over, “Hi – you’re Sam and Dean? I’m Pepper Potts, one of Tony’s friends. We’re really glad you’re here.” Pepper shook both their hands and turned, expecting them to follow.

More introductions followed. There had to be a dozen or so people they shook hands with before they were left with Ms. Potts, a Colonel Rhodes (Air Force, semi-retired), and Ms. Maria Hill.

In the elevator to Tony Stark’s private penthouse apartment, “Where’s Bobby?” Dean asked.

“We’re headed there now, Mr. Winchester,” Maria Hill said in an all-business, not-a-chance-pal tone of voice.

Sam smirked, but his face smoothed back into that damned forehead crease of concern when SHIELD’s Deputy Director glanced in his direction. Hill smiled at Sam, “It’s… just easier to explain in person – no need to worry Sam.”

 _Why does he get to be Sam and I’m stuck being ‘Mr. Winchester?’ What the hell…._ Dean straightened his shoulders. Professional, you are a professional, Dean Winchester. The team of superheroes requested _your_ expertise… and Sam’s. Bobby’s too. That’s not the point – the point is that you are _supposed_ to be here and _… Holy – …._ Dean’s brain white noised out when it looked like he was stepping out of the elevator and into Cloud City.

Intimidating wasn’t quite the word for the view as they exited the elevator in a large open plan apartment. At first glance, Dean thought there were 360 degree views of the city below. Upon turning a full circle, however, he could see that part of the room had at least a partial wall separating the line of sight from the rest of the apartment.

“He’s back there?” Dean asked gruffly, because he was a _professional_ and could in fact, put two and two together.

“’Bout time you boys decided to show up!” Bobby’s voice rang through the apartment loud and strong.

Then the man himself appeared - familiar, frayed blue baseball cap, flannel shirt and all. “Welcome to the Avengers Tower, sirs. I’m pleased to finally meet you both. Mr. Singer speaks extremely highly of you.”

Dean’s hand reached for a handgun that had been confiscated by that puffed up rent-a-cop downstairs. Sam had turned instinctively to cover them from behind. “Bobby? What the hell?”

Bobby’s sigh filled the apartment, “You boys might wanna have a seat.”

Sam’s brow knitted with concern, “What’s going on here Bobby – we thought this was about Tony Stark?”

The disembodied sound of Bobby’s voice filled the room again, “Yeah, well it is… I think I told you there were **two** things that seem too coincidental not to be connected…?” He sighed again, “Well, this is the other.”

Sam sat on a sofa that looked like it was probably worth as much as they’d spent on gas crisscrossing the country last year. Dean leaned on its arm, not quite sitting, arms folded across this chest. “I think you’ve got some explaining to do, here Bobby Singer,” Dean said, unamused.

“Right – well… the fella takin’ up residence in my body is Mr. Stark’s Artificial Intelligence, JARVIS. JARVIS is one of our contacts – a friend of mine. He sends jobs our way that are more our thing than their thing, keeps you boys’ records clean as best he can without raising suspicions, and makes sure any property damages from those jobs get covered.” In Dean’s mind’s eye, he could imagine Bobby staring at him, eyebrows raised nearly to the edge of his hat, making sure he understood.

This JARVIS-Bobby-person-computer thing did _not_ move like Bobby Singer, it… he? raised his eyebrow archly and said, “I see the nature of our predicament is becoming apparent to you.”

Sam leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, cradling his head. Dean threw his hands up in the air and Sam’s shoulders slumped and he said, “Really Bobby? You’re only telling us about this now?”

Maria Hill smiled, “Now that everyone’s acquainted, I’ll show myself out. Good luck guys.”

After a few more minutes of arguing, Pepper _… Ms. Potts…_ , Dean mentally corrected himself, cleared her throat and gestured to them both to follow her. Walking behind the wall separating the sleeping area from the rest of the living area, they found a fairly minimalist bedroom. The bed was large – probably a California king at least – and to one side, a man with dark brown hair, slightly older than he or Sam, lay curled up asleep.

Dean took a long look – just to be sure – but the guy blissfully asleep was definitely the sex tape guy. 

_The_ 


sex tape guy, Tony Stark. That’s why Dean remembered the name and associated it with sex tapes. He’d seen them all – mostly a bunch of run-of-the-mill ‘barely legal’ stuff from the days before internet porn was a really thing.

The one that stuck in Dean’s mind though, was possibly the hottest thing he’d ever seen – and he’d been to hell. Tony – it was definitely him, just younger in the video – was doing a strip tease for whoever was running the camera. The guy never even took off all his clothes and just _thinking_ about the lascivious way Stark looked through his eyelashes and bit his lip made Dean’s palms sweat and heart race.

What does a billionaire dream about? What does a superhero dream about? Those had been Dean’s questions before… now though, he didn’t want Sam to experience… well… the whole sex tape thing. Dean definitely wouldn’t be _jealous_ or anything if Sam got to share dreams with _Tony Stark_ – the fucking sex god….

Dean Winchester liked women – something he reminded friends and acquaintances of from time to time. Well, it was the truth… for the most part. Tony Stark, though was on a whole other level. _Holy shit – I’m having feelings about meeting my favorite porn star and I haven’t actually met him. I’m just standing here like a psycho stalker or something._

“Dean!” Sam called his name like he’d repeated himself several times already.

“Yeah? What?” Dean replied gruffly – and hopefully covering his daydreaming tracks.

Sam looked annoyed, like he might argue, but just sighed and shook his head. “I asked you if you wanted me to go. I know how you hate the African Dream Root potion, so I figured I’d offer.”

From Sam’s facial expression, it was clear that he expected Dean to agree. Dammit. “Yeah, sure Sammy. No problem. I’ll… just… um… hang out here and keep guard I guess. You got nothin’ to worry about.” Dean made himself agree and actually had to bite his tongue for a moment before the urge to babble on stopped.

“All right then.” Sam said, still giving him a weird look. “Maybe you can figure out what’s going on with Bobby and JARVIS while I’m out.”

 _That_ was unlikely, but he could try. It’d be better than thinking about what he might be missing in Stark’s dream. “Sure Sammy. Will do. I’m on it.” Dean smiled – the kind that showed a lot of teeth, but didn’t reach his eyes. He thought of it as his ‘trust me’ smile.

Dean could tell Sam didn’t trust him on this, but felt satisfied that Sammy didn’t know why Dean was just pretending to be okay with everything.

Just to be sure, Dean and Sam completed their usual battery of tests like holy water to test for demonic possession, detergent to test for Leviathans, even silver to test for shapeshifters or werewolves – not that those usually had anything to do with… ‘sleep disorders.’ The brothers took readings to check for possible spirit possession and warded the room. None of these things had any noticeable effect other than that the holy water made things wet.

During the course of their testing, Ms. Potts and Colonel Rhodes had been joined by a few of Mr. Stark’s other friends and Dean felt their eyes watch him and Sam critically, scrutinizing every movement, every test. As it became clear that no easy explanation would be forthcoming, the assembled Avengers and friends started to fold their arms and frown with disapproval.

Glancing at the group, Dean smiled and asked, “Anybody try kissing him?”

No one laughed – and even worse, both Sam and Steve Rogers (Captain America!) managed to have nearly identical expressions of disbelief and annoyed disappointment.

“Snow White?” Dean tried again, but no one cracked anything remotely close to a smile. Dean mumbled to himself, “Buncha killjoys…”

The rest of the afternoon and evening, Sam and Dean consulted with Bobby and – the not-Bobby – JARVIS. The argued and ate the best pie Dean had ever had, peach with the crust just the right amount of flaky and a dusting of sugar baked onto it, giving the slightest bit of crunch to each bite. With startlingly strong coffee to go with the pie, Dean thought he might have died and gone to heaven – except that this was better since there weren’t any angels around to harass them.

As they’d agreed earlier, Sam prepared to take the African Dream Root potion to enter Stark’s dream and investigate from that front while Dean kept watch and Bobby and JARVIS continued their research. Sam fell asleep in a nearby chair almost immediately after taking the potion.

 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

 

The scene paused. Loki turned to Gabriel, “Sam? Surely you jest,” his tone of annoyance nearly palpable.

Gabriel raised his eyebrows innocently, “What’s wrong with Sam Winchester, love?”

Loki wrinkled his nose. “He’s just so… earnest,” he tried to come up with a better word, “So… _nice_.”

Clearly enjoying himself, Gabriel asked, “You don’t think Tony Stark deserves someone ‘nice’ in his life?”

“He’s got that Rhodes Machine person,” Loki said tartly. “The Man of Iron deserves someone… _interesting_. Someone unafraid to… enjoy themselves from time to time.”

“Someone like you?” Gabriel teased and put an arm around Loki’s shoulders.

“Such a union would be… inadvisable for both of us – even if I hadn’t already found someone obviously superior,” Loki said loftily. Gabriel teased him enough about his almost-crush on Tony Stark as it was without adding more fuel to the fire.

“Maybe we should watch and see what happens?” Gabriel suggested. “Trust me?”

Loki hummed an affirmative and Gabriel went back to running his fingers through Loki’s dark hair, murmuring, “It’s so dark I keep looking for stars…” and pressed a kiss to Loki’s temple. He allowed an unguarded, tender expression while Loki looked away. He added, “I noticed what you did there with JARVIS and Bobby Singer, love.” He nuzzled Loki’s hair, “I don’t deserve you.”

Loki grumbled a bit more about ‘thrice-damned Sam Winchester’ before kissing Gabriel on the cheek, “I’m glad you like it. The two blend so well together… I really couldn’t be more pleased. Happy anniversary, darling.”

The two agents of mischief kissed unhurriedly for a long while before Loki pulled away, toed off his boots, and reclined on their Italian leather sofa, resting his head in Gabriel’s lap. Gabriel curled his fingers into his lover’s hair and unpaused the show.

 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

 

Tony lay in his bed, lamp extinguished, but he could still smell the whale oil hot in the air – _gross_. Being summertime now, it was too hot to fall asleep easily even with all the manual labor he did during the day. He rubbed the callouses on his palms. How long _had_ it been since he arrived here?

Some of the people just sort of drifted in and out of Progress, but a few regulars stayed. Everyone in town seemed friendly enough, but… he was just as lonely as he’d been in New York. Making the personal connections here feel meaningful was a constant struggle and Tony had just about given up.

Throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, Tony got up and relit the lamp. He took the lamp down to the kitchen to brew some tea (no way was he going to drink the water here without boiling it). Sitting down at the table, Tony picked up the copy of the _New York Times_ – it was only a couple of weeks old.

This was what life in Progress had come to: reading an old newspaper on a Friday night. The highlight was a pithy political cartoon about the current status of America’s manifest destiny. _As if.…_ Tony sighed and flipped to the classifieds. Sometimes those were good for a few laughs. Ate the very least, the ads were interesting as historical artifacts.

That’s when Tony saw it:

> DMW – looking to move West. Tall, brown hair, green eyes. Write DMW care of Osgood’s Boarding House, Lawrence, Kansas.

Kansas was already pretty far west – at least as the country thought of ‘civilization’ at this point in time. Tony wondered why DMW wanted to get farther away from the relative comforts of being closer to towns with more than 100 residents.

The kettle whistled and Tony set the paper down to finish brewing his tea. He glanced at the newspaper and rubbed his eyes with one hand and decided to get out the paper and ink. The only paper he had was ledger paper, so he took a page from the back and wrote.

> Dear DMW,
> 
> I don’t write many letters and honestly, have never written one like this before. I saw your notice in the newspaper and decided to write. I’m sure you’ve already gotten more interesting responses than this one and that with the postal service being what it is out here, this letter may never reach you at all. But, I’m bored to tears alone out here and figured writing would at least give me something to pass the time with.
> 
> The town I live in is called Progress, California. I realize that may be a bit farther than you’re intending to move, but in general, it’s a fairly quiet town and nice enough once you look past the tumbleweeds. Fridays people ride in from all over and on those days it’s busy. Most ride out in the afternoon, though a few spend the night in the hotel down the street. Some drunks, a few horse thieves, but not much in the way of violence. It’s not like what you read in the penny dreadfuls – all outlaws and shootouts. Though there have been three posses assembled since I arrived here.
> 
> I live above the blacksmith’s shop. It’s not a bad life here. I just wish sometimes that I had someone to share it with.
> 
> Anyway, I hope this letter reaches you and that you decide to write back.
> 
> Your friend (hopefully),
> 
> TES

Tony read through it again. Writing with a fountain pen was getting easier – not so many splatters or drops of ink as there were when he’d started. The 21st Century part of him cringed at phrases like ‘bored to tears’ and ‘penny dreadfuls.’ Yuck. He hadn’t meant to just come out and admit to being lonely, but there it was. Odds of the letter getting to Kansas were slim, odds that DMW would write back, miniscule. The odds that they did, and the letter reached its destination in Progress? Not impossible, but extremely unlikely.

He folded up the letter and addressed it. Joseph, the postmaster hardly blinked when Tony mailed it the next morning. Then promptly forgot about it during the course of trying to shoe all the horses that pulled Mr. Amundsen’s wagon.

Over the next few weeks, he didn’t think much about it at all. There was smithing, a string of stagecoach robberies – even an attempted train heist. With nothing but bland reassurances from the mayor, Tony took out an ad in the New York Times taking inquiries for a new sheriff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope it's worth the wait. The next chapter will be another bingo fill, but it was getting too long for just one chapter! :D Enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> I don't care what the spn show writers have done... Bobby Singer is just fine and dandy, thank you very much. Or - this is my world and I'm running with it. :D
> 
> Ok, seems like it's not cheating to use a song lyric for a title in a Tony/Dean fic since music is such a huge part of both characters. :) The title is from "Lodi" by Creedence Clearwater Revival, written by John Fogerty.
> 
> The tags will change as the story progresses - the rating might also too (depends on what those 2 get up to when they meet!). There will be at least 3 chapters total. :D Comments, questions, suggestions all welcome! :>
> 
> Thanks to @Nix3994 for being an awesome discord spouse and beta! :D Thanks to @rudearrow, @deathsweetqueen, @eirlyssa, @rinnwrites, @Anti-Xi (discord), and @moony; (discord) for their brainstorming help and enthusiasm!! :D


End file.
